


Red String

by livinginnightvale (cloudsgrl)



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: M/M, Red String of Fate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-11
Updated: 2014-05-11
Packaged: 2018-01-24 08:16:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1597964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudsgrl/pseuds/livinginnightvale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe the string wasn’t a bad thing, and the fact the tugs still weren’t entirely predictable didn’t help much, but other times…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red String

**Author's Note:**

> I probably completely fucked up the mythology in this, but I really liked the idea and I thought it fit. I used Wikipedia for help, and still, I’ve probably fucked up. This was supposed to be a cute drabble but it kept getting longer so I cut it where I did. I also wrote/finished this when I was supposed to be doing homework, and it hasn’t been beta’d.
> 
> IF THERE ARE TRIGGER WARNINGS NEEDED, PLEASE LET ME KNOW SO I CAN ADD THEM!

The scientist scowled at the paper in front of him, listing the different symptoms of his… sickness on the page. Not that he could legitimately call it such. It was just a tug, like a child grabbing onto a sleeve or shirt and pulling to get attention, on his finger. Sometimes the tug was brief, as though it was an accident, and then there were times it lasted for a period of time (longest duration so far is 14hours 36minutes). And along with the tug came a sensation like a punch to the gut, that something was possibly wrong.

But there was no way to prove that, or disprove it even. He was a scientist with no ability or specialty that would allow him to even attempt to figure it out.

Running out of ideas, he called his sister and explained the situation. He immediately regretted it when the folklorist rambled off many possible explanations: Anansi and how he got his eight legs, angel hair falling from the sky, and the string of fate. It was the last one that got his attention.

The red string of fate was an east Asian myth, a silly romantic notion that had children and adults alike swooning over the idea of a person that fit them perfectly. A person that would not only make them complete but make them more than just themselves.

Carlos thought the idea was silly (and ignored the tug that came as if in offense). There was no scientific basis for the idea, and the so-called fated person was proclaimed through extreme psychological and emotional factors coming together in conjunction with hormones, pheromones, and the chemicals of serotonin, dopamine, and oxytocin.

There was no such thing as a red string of fate, or destiny, or whatever the books and shows and love-obsessed siblings called it. What there was was scientific discovery and inquiry. There was a location, in the southwest United States that reportedly defied all logic and up to date scientific claims. It too sounded unlikely; but every time he read the name “Night Vale” it almost summoned the tug on his finger.

…

Once in Night Vale, the tug occurred just as before, so at least there was something constant despite the change of location. Carlos found himself wrapped up in the wonders of scientific anomalies and jumping through hoops to avoid his entire team being reeducated (sometimes even literally).

In a lull of scientific activity, he attempted to collect data on the tugging once more. And this time, there was a pattern, one that he only could see if he bothered to actually look at the data. It was tied to a certain radio host.

A radio host with dark skin, dark eyes, thick hair in a braid down his back, and a maze of tattoos on his arms. A host with a body that was not tall, not short, not thin, not fat, and had a voice that could soothe anyone. A radio host who had a lack of self-preservation and tended to jump into trouble.

Though, if Carlos had to admit it to himself, he and Cecil were similar in that regard. Especially after his almost death one year after his arrival. They were both reckless, and in the pursuit of knowledge, even if it was for different reasons.

When Carlos and Cecil started dating, then the tug seemed to almost disappear, as though being closer to Cecil made it relax, calm. It allowed Carlos to relax too, now not having to constantly monitor this incessant tugging, and thus opened up new avenues for conversation.

Carlos traced a spiral of red ink from the center of his palm up the length of Cecil’s dark forearm. “What inspired this tattoo?”

Cecil twitched at the sensation of Carlos’s chemically scarred finger tips lightly touching his skin. “I got it to honor my ancestors. We have Hohokam in my heritage, and I much preferred the red spiral to the numerous triangle people and their weapons. I mean, I’m sure there was more, but when I researched it, the spiral was the most prominent thing I found.” He laughed, whether nervously or just because he was ticklish, Carlos was unsure. “Old Woman Josie hit me with her cane when she saw it. Said it was horribly inaccurate and I should be ashamed. Though she really disliked it when I got Anansi.”

"Huh," Carlos added, if only to convey he was listening. And then he paused, and met Cecil’s dark dark eyes. "Anansi? The trickster god?"

Cecil squealed and bounced in his chair, catching the attention of everyone in the vicinity. “You know of him too? Of course you do, you’re a scientist.” He wiggled in his seat. “I got a full back tattoo of his spider form, and attempted to paint his Human form with eight spider legs on my wall when I was only a teenager. I grew up listening to my mother and Old Woman Josie spinning tales about him, and he became something real to me, if that makes sense. It only solidified when I was told my father originated from West Africa.” Cecil’s face scrunched slightly in uncertainty. “but i was also told he was an elder god, a plumber, and the creator of toothpaste, so who really knows how true that was.”

Carlos hummed and thought, recalling the tale his sister shared, of how Anansi got his eight legs. Drawing upon what he could remember, he began reciting, “There once lived a spider named Anansi,”. Cecil clasped his hands tight in his own, and listened avidly, no matter how many times he may have heard the tale. Carlos told of how Anansi wanted to eat Rabbit’s greens and spun a thread for Rabbit to tug when the greens were done, and how he spun a thread for the monkeys to tug when the beans were done, and so on. Finally all eight strings were tugged at the same time, and Anansi’s limbs were tugged this way and that, stretching them thinner and thinner. Anansi then fell into the river, and his strings were washed away, leaving him with eight long limbs.

When the story was finished, Carlos met Cecil’s gaze curiously. “Have you ever felt that sensation? Of being pulled in a certain direction as though something is tugging on you?”

"Why yes!" Cecil exclaimed. "All the time! Especially when there’s a lot of news to broadcast and so many things to investigate and I don’t have enough interns to do it all." He gestured wildly, and briefly, Carlos felt the tug. He had a hypothesis now.

Carlos reached for where the tug occurred, almost able to see the thread wrapped around his finger. He imagined grabbing it with his other hand, and TUGGED.

Cecil squeaked and glanced at his own hand in shock. Carlos did it again, and Cecil’s eyes went wide. The third time had Cecil reaching over and kissing him.

So maybe the string wasn’t a bad thing, and the fact the tugs still weren’t entirely predictable didn’t help much, but other times…

Other times Carlos would be listening to the radio, hear Cecil start talking about him, and he’d give a little tug and listen to the adorable squeak the host would release in reply. Other times Cecil would be ranting and would stand up from his chair in the station and fall, tugging on the thread and causing Carlos to sigh as his data was skewed again.

Other times, they’d tug on the string, and the other would know they were thinking of them. And that. That was perfect.


End file.
